Haiku Heart Attack
by CarbonatedMilk
Summary: It had been 9 months since Taro and his friend Light Yagami had found the Death Note. Resurfacing from beneath Taro's bed, he was taken aback by the new rules in the Death Note. After Taro decides what he shall use the note for, police are baffled by heart attacks in a residential building with a haiku as a "suicide note". It's time for revenge...
1. Chapter 1

**AN:**** Taro is my own character, i just liked the name too much to change it ^_^**

* * *

*Beep, beep, beep*

Taro slapped his hand down on the alarm clock, and quickly retracted his hand into the warm covers. After a few minutes of shut-eye, he groggily sat up in bed, leaning his back against where the walls met and rubbed his eyes awake.

There was no struggle to adjust to the brightness of day; his room was as blackened as shut eyes. Darkness loomed around him, yet the dawn had broken; darkness filled with mystery and often deceit. Drawing his blinds open was a useless endeavour, his room – no, his cage – was tucked away in the back of this high rise apartment building in this city, in the dingy alleyway that never saw light, blocked by the other buildings racing to tower above each other in the fight for light.

In his darkness, Taro sat and festered in his thoughts. He slid down on top of his bed covers and laid his head on his interlocked hands, staring blankly up into the dark abyss. His mind wondered, imagining how the breeze felt that flowed through their homes during the hot summers; how fresh and revitalising it was.

More so than envy for this wind, Taro was angry. His jaw clenched as he thought of the hundreds of apartments stacked above theirs, using his four walls to stay suspended in the air. He wondered whether those people cared or even thought about those below them; how much their lives depended on the four small cage walls. It was human nature for Taro to want their extravagant life, but the self-absorbed mentality that came along with money brought a sour taste to his mouth.

Sometimes he wished those people dead. No, it was a recurring thought pulsating through his brain at all times.

As he made his daily commute to the bus stop, Taro saw the selfishness breed merrily amongst his people, powered by the greed of people like those who lived above him. Keeping to himself mostly, he sat in the back of the bus and stared out the window; a rainbow of colours attacking his eyes, each vying for individual attention. Whilst he stared blankly to the world outside the confines of the bus, he eavesdropped on whatever conversation's sounds waves would enter his ears.

The choking snore of the homeless lady he always commuted with; the irate clatter of teenagers on their cell phones, barely masked by their high-pitched banter. Taro caught himself staring out at these girls, and quickly peered back outside the steaming window, warmed by his breath. Using the sleeve of his tattered winter coat, Taro wiped away a neat circle to view the world outside. The adverts flashed past in bright colours, each trying to grab limited attention. They forced down products in the, claiming to be the grand solution we all seek in our miserable lives. "The problem is you," he bitterly muttered to himself.

Every day he took that bus to go to school, a place he loved with people he hated. Oddly enough, he had made a friend in this school – something Taro deemed virtually impossible: people like them did not hang out with the lows like him. Taro didn't feel like he fitted in; the other students treated him as though he were an intruding outsider. Taro conceded: he did not belong there; his attendance was gained through a full scholarship. However, he wore his exclusion as a medal; it proved that he was never to live the poisoned life of theirs.

What he enjoyed about Light Yagami, his sole friend, was his intellect. Yes, he lived the life Taro was vehemently opposed to, but Taro had somehow managed to get passed this fact. They spent most of their day together, somewhat forced by their similar timetables: though both sixteen, they excelled passed their grade's curriculum and were in final year a year earlier, and in the same few university courses offered by the school. Little conversation happened between the boys, often caused by Taro's deep absorption into anything he could read.

That day in particular, he managed to find his head buried in a tabloid magazine, lined with juicy gossip of local and international celebrities from sources that were "close to the stars" who (conveniently) preferred to remain nameless. Taro amused himself thinking that people actually accepted the shoddy 'investigative journalism' as divine truth.

Light steered them through the mass of students pouring out from the classes as their break began, tugging the engrossed Taro from plummeting into their peers.

Finally, they burst out in the school court yard, and made their way to their usual seating area. As Taro sat down, a chill went up his spine. He made a mental note to find a different seat during the cold late-November month. As December approached, it was bound to get even colder. The bench was already chilled concrete with a layer of frost formed from being placed in the shadows of the school's buildings. About to voice his suggestion, Taro breathed in to let out a sentence to Light, yet turned to find… air. Taro lowered the rubbish magazine and whipped his neck around to see where Light had evaporated to. On the far end of the court yard, Taro could make out the silhouette of Light, who was bending over and picked up what seemed to be a notebook – or something else thin and rectangular. Taro squinted to see over the far distance.

Strangely, Light placed this notebook back where he had found it and casually walked to the shaded bench. As if nothing had happened, Light started rummaging in his satchel.

Taro looked at Light expectantly as he returned to his seat, hoping his continued stares would encourage Light to explain. As Light scratched in his bag, Taro saw that he'd have to dig for an explanation.

"What was that?"

"Hmm?"

"That thing that you just picked up over there," gesturing towards the grass's direction.

"It's a notebook," Light stopped searching through his satchel and looked at Taro, "calls itself 'Death Note'. I watched it fall from the English class window just before break started."

"'Death Note'?"

Light began to chuckle, "It's just a practical joke Taro, don't let the name fool you. Probably one of the classes above us dropped it. You know how bored those seniors get. Just think about last year's flooding of the Biology class" Light paused, "Though, I'll give 'em points for this one, it's well thought-out; the 'Death Note' even has rules" Light grinned, trying to pacify his chuckle from becoming a roaring laughter.

As soon as Taro heard of rules, he also began to chuckle. "Rules? Really… This I've got to see!" He went over to the grass, the item still where Light had placed it. 'Death Note', just like Light had said. As he made his way back to Light, who had finally found what he searched for in his bag, Taro flipped through the pages of the note to find them all blank. It was only on the inside front cover where the pristine note had been defaced.

Taro sat and read the 'How to use' guide aloud: "The human's name whose name is written in this note shall die," A smile began to creep on his face; he continued, "This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected."

Taro looked up into Light's eyes. Pause. They burst out in roaring laughter at the 'magical paper' that caused death through imagination.

"Wait!" Taro had read ahead, barely able to continue through his laughter, "This rule is a good one: If the death is unspecified, the victim will simply die of a... heart attack!"

"Paper causing cardiac arrest?" Light wiped a tear forming in his right eye.

The bell rang, noting the end of break. Taro slipped the notebook into his bag, hoping to continue the 'how to use' guide for another good laugh. "Come, let's go," Light said through his chuckles and they made their way to the corridors, smiles plastered on their faces.

* * *

"Taro!" his aunt screamed from her room in the early hours of a September morning.

Groaning, Taro rolled in bed, stuck out his hand to brave the cold of autumn morning and searched for his watch, giving up on that. Whatever the time, it was too early for him to be awoken with such vigour.

Through his half-awake-half-asleep state, Taro heard shuffling outside his door, knowing what came next.

"Taro!" she yelled again, swinging his door open with a crash. She fumbled with the string of her gown she had grabbed to look decent whilst she reprimanded the teenager. Gown fastened, her hands were now free to tug on Taro's sheets.

"C'mon, get up" she said over his groans, "there are things to be done today. Time to spring clean!" she sniffed, "and judging by the smell in here, this is long overdue."

"It's not even spring" Taro muttered softly into his pillow. He decided to use his usual tactic whenever these barge-ins happened: feign sleeping.

"I heard that" his aunt pulled his curtains open, "so don't even pretend to be asleep. Urg, it really does smell horrible in here."

He heard a creek; this distinct sound made Taro whip out of bed. "Don't open that!" he commanded. His aunt raised her brow at the tone Taro used with her, "I mean", changing to a calm tone, "don't open that window. I'd take this smell over the smell of rotting dumpster."

"Well… Alright then," his aunt trudged over to the door, surprised she hadn't tripped over Taro's scattered items on the floor, "I'll leave this door open then, air out this stank scent." She began to leave, but peered in from the side of the door frame. "Oh, and Taro?"

"Yes?" he responded gruffly.

"It's Spring in the southern hemisphere, so get to cleaning! I'd start with the floor"

Taro thought he'd do the usual and dump everything underneath his bed, but it was about time he dealt with his floor; it needed to match the categorised neatness of his cupboard. Making simple piles of 'keep' and 'discard', Taro breezed through the items on his floor.

He then moved on to the items underneath his bed. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Taro bent over with his head dangling between his legs. Using his hand as his eyes, Taro felt around and pulled out whatever he could find: that missing sock, discarded papers, a dirty spoon….

As the items diminished, it became more difficult for Taro to reach underneath. Changing positions, he lay across his floor, knees bent with feet flying to the ceiling so he could fit between his bed and cupboard.

Taro pulled out a pile of two book-like items, and sat cross legged, leaning his back against his cupboard. Covered in dust, he wiped off this layer to reveal a tabloid magazine. "Definitely throwing this away." He added it to the pile.

Taro laughed at what was in his hand: the 'Death Note'.

Instantly, he remembered the day Light and he had found this note discarded. He flipped open the notebook to its inside front cover, re-reading the 'how to use guide' that provided his friend and himself a good laugh.

But something was different – as though someone had tampered with it. He observed how dustless the note was in comparison to the tabloid that festered beneath his bed for the same 9 month period. He felt uneasy. His chuckling smile morphed as he flickered through the pages, eyes widening as he stopped on the black back inside cover.

Taro dropped the note as though it was poisonous, falling open to this last page, forcing Taro to re-read what startled him so: the new rules in the Death Note.


	2. Chapter 2

Chap 2

Ryuk watched expectantly on the human realm. Seeing his Death Note fall on the grass, he began to chuckle to himself, knowing what he had just done and excited about what was to come.

"What's got you so cheerful?" a shinigami asked in passing.

"I dropped my Death Note into the human realm" Ryuk responded with a smile on his face. Seeing the reaction from the shinigami – complete shock – Ryuk responded with a shrug. "Whoops" and began laughing again.

"Look," he called on the shinigami, "a human boy is picking up the note" Ryuk's eyes glimmered with excitement, but dulled as he placed it back down again. It was the other shinigami's turn at laughter.

"Wait!" Ryuk interjected. They watched as another teenager picked up the death note; a chuckle rumbled from Ryuk's throat.

This is it! He thought to himself, smile widening again. He started to claim victory, knowing that the boys with the Death Note were his ticket out of sheer boredom.

His internalised victory was shattered as he heard the shinigami laugh again, pointing down to the human children. "What now?" he said annoyed, and peered down to the human Death Note owner, who was consumed by roaring laughter with his friend. Ryuk's face fell in defeat, knowing that boredom was still his accompaniment.

"Still watching those humans Ryuk?" the same shinigami asked months later, "we may start thinking you take this seriously," his teasing drawing laughter from the crowd of shinigami playing pointless games.

Ryuk sighed. It had been 4 months human time that he sat on this ground, staring at the humans, following their mundane, repetitive routine. They had yet to look at the Death Note again, disheartening Ryuk. He had thought his 'how to use' guide would peak interest, but it was reduced to a moment's joke.

If Ryuk really wanted his boredom relieved, maybe it was time to visit the human realm….

* * *

Taro stared at the note book until his eyes went dry. His blinking snapped him back to reality and began to process what he had just seen.

Choosing to ignore the note momentarily, Taro picked up the 'discard' pile and walked slowly to the refuse bin, mind still boggled by the Death Note.

As he returned to his now neatened room, Taro jumped a little at the sight of the Death Note on his floor. A chill crept up his spine, and thoughts raced in his head. "Calm Taro", this thought overpowering the others, "you've just gotta think."

Slowly, he closed the door behind him, and clicked it into the frame with precision. He crept around the Death Note and sat on the edge of his bed, cross-legged and glared down at it. For some reason, Taro felt he must be cautious around the Death Note, careful not to frighten it – a notion he knew seemed ridiculous, but in light of the note writing within itself, Taro put nothing passed this magical note book.

He punched in Light Yagami's number into his phone. Two rings later, Light picked up.

"Hey Taro, what up?" Light said cheerfully.

"Th-the –" Taro stammered over his words. They refused to be spat out his mouth; he gulped.

Light frowned at the unresponsive end, "Hey," his tone changed to concern, "is everything cool there?"

Taro gulped again, and glanced at the notebook out the corner of his eye, terrified to look at it, "The Death Note!" he blurted out.

Light began to laugh, remembering that practical joke from ages ago, "Ha, that thing!" he said with fondness, "Guess you found it today?"

Taro shook his head, but realised that Light couldn't see his solemn expression, "No Light – I mean, yes, I did find the note today, but… it's different," he paused, "There's new rules in the Death Note Light."

Silence.

Light burst into laughter, "Good one there Taro, I almost bought it. With your nervousness… Good acting there."

"I'm not acting." Those three words tore the smile off Light's face. "Light, something, someone – maybe the note itself, I don't know – wrote more rules on the Death Note. It's in the interior side of the back cover." He paused, "I don't think this is a practical joke anymore." He rushed through his words, "Maybe this 'Death Note' thing is legitimate; maybe it actually _can_ kill people by having their name written down; maybe –" Light cut his babbling short.

"Listen to yourself Taro, you sound insane. Science, logical reasoning – both are missing from this story. This note book is straight out the pages of science fiction writings. Okay," Light sighed, "tell me these rules…"

Taro cleared his voice, "One page taken from the Death Note, or even a fragment of the page, possesses the full power of the note. Those who are not the human owner of the Death Note may still use the note to its full effect." Taro's face flushed, "To see the lifespan and name of humans who do not own a Death Note, the human owner of the note may trade for shinigami eyes, al–"

Light roared with laughter, "Shinigami! Oh, this is getting good..."

After Light muffled his laughter, he continued, "Taro, honestly: shinigami? Please, try tell me that this note book is not a practical joke?"

Taro's silence spoke volumes.

"You seriously believe it?" Light's laughter returned, "Okay, fine, just try it out – it won't hurt. I doubt it'll work, but give it a go; call me _if_ something happens."

Taro was faced with the decision of who to write down alone. He was just psyching himself out – yes, that was it. Light's right: science, logical reasoning – that governs this world. It's bound not to work… right…? I mean, it wouldn't make sense if it did.

But who to kill…? No Taro, it won't work; the question is: who to _attempt_ to kill?

There was a myriad of people Taro wanted dead; he was spoilt with choice. But this is just an investigation he reminded himself, he needed to choose someone ordinary… someone whose death (assuming it worked), wouldn't affect many people – someone unimportant. It took Taro a month to find someone fitting this description, the person dawning upon him in early October.

He picked up the note, and re-read the original 'how to use' guide, making sure he understood what must be done for this to work. He followed the instructions strictly, not making one error. Taro packed the note away, carefully sliding it into a compartment of his backpack.

"I'm going!" he shouted out to his aunt, bus card in hand.

Per usual, Taro sat in the back of the bus, passing a smartly dressed man who was seated in the front; the usual homeless lady; another teenager, seated on the other side of the bus at the back, listening to music, staring gormlessly out the window; and a giggle of girls gawking at their cell phones in the seats in front of him.

Taro fidgeted in his seat, glancing nervously at the time. The ticks on his analogue clock sounded like loud bangs as the second hand neared three o'clock; the time of death he had written in the Death Note.

Bang; the second hand met with the 12. Through heavy breath, Taro frantically looked at his fellow commuters. For less than half a second, he began to sigh from relief, but that was snatched by a yell in the front.

Taro was stunned; his eyes bulged to the edge of their sockets. He must have stayed in this position for minutes, as he watched the scene unfold in slow motion: all commuters whipping their heads to where the noise came from; the teen boy removing his ear phones, the girls gaze away from their phones; the finely dressed young man throwing himself across the aisle to catch the homeless lady who clutched at her chest, falling forward; the bus driver craning his head back, seeing all the commotion and pulling over.

The girls shrieked, one frantically calling for an ambulance. All passengers were at the front of the bus, tending to the lady – all except one.

Taro remained fixated on his seat, mesmerised by the scene in front of him. His mouth hung slightly ajar, getting drier by the second but he hadn't noticed. The speed returned to normal as the lady was ushered out swiftly by the paramedics who arrived promptly.

All people in the bus went outside to see if the lady was going to be alright, leaving Taro to digest the happenings. He broke from his stunned pause, and scratched through his bag for his phone: Light must know what just transpired.

As he punched the numbers in, the light that poured through the back windscreen suddenly became eclipsed. Puzzled by this, Taro turned around to see. He dropped his phone instantaneously as his eyes met the coverer.

"I see you used the note," and a cackle ripped through the air.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dearest non-existent readers ^_^ please review, just to comfort the poor author's soul that you exist; thanks**

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Chapter 3

"A, a shi—" Taro could hardly believe the being before him: hunched over from the bus that was too small to house him; his arms abnormally long for his stature, almost grazing the ground; his face, almost too horrific to describe – completely white with large, round yellow eyes with red pupils; a smile that took up most of his face, almost The Joker-like with its thick red outline. This had to be the shinigami of the note.

The shinigami glanced outside the window, "The other humans are coming back" he told Taro, "Don't worry; they won't be able to see me."

And just as the shinigami had said, the giggle of girls made their way in, giggles replaced with solemn whispers among them. As they shuffled back into their seats, the last one paused and bent over, picking up Taro's cell phone.

"Is this yours?" she extended her arm with the squeaking phone in her hand.

Still stunned by the shinigami, Taro could only manage a nod. With little movement in his seat, he simply lifted the phone to his right ear. Talking over the inquisitive Light, Taro answered all his questions with two words: "It worked," and snapped his phone close.

For the rest of the journey, Taro sat fixated, and stared out straight ahead to the heads of the girls, his head plagued that the note had worked. What does this mean? What should he do? Does this mean I'm a… _murderer_? His face went a flushed into a whitish green, noticed by one girl out the corner of her eye, who sat perpendicular to the bus bench's backrest.

"Hey? Are you okay?" she turned completely, leaning her chin on the tattered red leather benches. Taro looked like he was about to throw up.

"The lady having a heart attack like that right there…" the middle girl commented, "I don't think any of us can forget that; an innocent lady dead."

"Just shows how cruel the world is…" the last girl added.

They all shook their heads in sympathy, and turned back to their conversation.

Was that cruel? Am I a torturer? Taro chose this woman to put her out of misery, not into it. He watched her everyday struggle to live life, barely able to get food or a home - forced to watch consumerism blared in her face, taunting her poor existence On one occasion Taro spoke to his fellow frequent passenger, listening to tales of her life. Her voice was limp, conveying no confidence or self-worth. She told Taro of the life-long hardship that she endure, and that her last comfort is that (even at her ripened age) that there's a chance she may "make it" in the world. Taro pitied her optimistic ignorance; little did she know of how the system truly works - her dream would never be fulfilled. She wasn't a human; she lived a half-life, begging to those who would never help.

Did he need to feel bad about this? Should he feel like a criminal? The medical technicians will conclude that she died of natural causes, so I didn't kill her; I'm not a criminal, I just played a part in her death.

Does this make me God? Isn't "He" the only one who should play a part in people's death? So if I'm God in some sense, can I choose who is worthy of being on this earth?

As he asked himself that final question, the bus had stopped; Taro glanced out the window as he always did. It was like the heavens were giving him an answer, he knew what he had to do with the power of the Death Note.

Taro walked into his apartment building's foyer confidently; no longer bother by the shinigami's presence floating around him. He cheerfully whistled as he awaited the arrival of the elevator. Being late afternoon on a weekday, the elevator got filled quickly by business-types in stuffy suits, forcing Taro to be shoved into the corner. But today he was not bothered (like he usually was) by the uncomfortable position, and did not curse their existence in his usual under-breath mutterings.

The elevator pinged; the second floor. He bumped passed the suits intentionally, feeling their burning gazes follow his head as he turned left out the elevator. The corner of Taro's mouth lifted into a smirk. Judge all you want, he telepathically told them, but I hold your lives in the palm of my hands.

Taro walked with a spring in his step as light flood onto him through the wall-length windows. He finally found an answer to the question in the bus: yes, he could choose who was worthy enough of living in this world; with confidence, Taro believed there was no better judge than himself. It would be disrespectful of the Death Note's power if he didn't quench the justice it thirsts for.

He turned left down a new corridor and it got progressively colder as they made their way down. Ryuk continued to haunt Taro; seeing his cheery mood brought on another round of laughter. They stopped at the end of a dingy corridor to a door. "You seem chuffed with yourself – what are you using the Death Note for?"

After searching for his keys in his back pack, he responded with a smile, "You'll see," and left Ryuk hanging with mystery.

"I'm back," he announced, hanging his keys on the hook. He threw his backpack on a stool and fixed himself a bowl of cereal, swivelling as he thought, occasionally putting a spoonful in his mouth.

A name and a face… that's what the Death Note needs. He knew all the faces of those he despised, but their names would be a challenge. Chewing slowly on his cereal, Taro tried to find a way to get these names inconspicuously.

His aunt emerged from her room in a flowing floor-length dress and a cardigan. "Cereal at this time of day?" his aunt remarked as she made her way to the fridge. Opening it and scanning its contents, she asked flatly, "Did you get the mail?"

His spoon crashed against the ceramic bowl, irritated that she disturbed his thought train.

"Don't do that, you'll break it" – the command ignored. With two thuds, he dropped his feet off the foot rest and dragged himself to the door. Opening it, he bent down with a sigh and picked up the mail delivered weekly by the building-hired mailman; usually a teen desperate for any job.

The top white envelop was crumpled and had a brown sole mark – his accidental step on the mail he hadn't noticed earlier. He flipped through the white envelopes; all were addressed to his aunt. Banging the door closed, he returned to his seat and threw the mail across the counter at his aunt's direction as she scanned the fruit bowl.

"You could just hand them to me," his aunt said irritated, "What's eating you? All this stomping around… I don't like it; stop it." Taking an apple, she grabbed her mail and returned to her room.

Taro hated fetching mail; nothing came for him and it was always bills – a weekly reminder of the system that chained people's souls to a hallucinated figure - souls chained to the greed of others. He hated this underhand neoslavery.

As he gruffly ate his cereal, an epiphany dawned. A sinister smile crept on Taro's face: names would no longer be a problem.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"'It worked'?!", but the receiver went silent.

Light lowered his phone and stared at it, hoping his action would somehow give him a response. Light had dismissed the notebook as a joke because there was no word from Taro for over a month. But this call changed his perspective.

Redial: nothing; just three rings then silence. Light was stunned; what did this mean? Who had Taro killed? How did they die? How can paper cause… death? Isn't God the only one who can do that? Who is God; is "He" a human with a Death Note? Gods of death - shinigami: does that mean they exist? What else does that the Death Note mention? How much of it is true?

What was going to happen now?

The questions sent a pulse through Light's body. Implored to find answers, the questions tugged at Light's chest, pulling him off his bed and on his feet in one swift move. He needed to see Taro – immediately.

He grabbed his satchel as he open the door to his room, shutting it close with no sound produced. As he swiftly made his way to the stair landing, Light's body prepared to hurry down the stairs, but his foot hung suspended above the second step, his hand gripped the railing. Light realised something.

Where was he going? This never seemed strange before, but Light didn't know where Taro lived. In fact, he knew little about Taro's lifestyle or family – did he even have any? There was nowhere to go; his questions must learn to be patient

Shoulders hanging in defeat, Light sighed and turned on the ball of his foot, reopened his door, placed his satchel back on his cupboard door and threw himself on bed, looked up to his ceiling and sighed.

Light was faced with two whole months left of his school holiday to occupy with activities. Usually he would join his father in crime investigations, but there was no point; criminals had become boring and stupid – all their plans were easily investigated and solved. He was provided no challenge and faced the reality of nothingness.

Boredom; how Light had become bored of being bored – he vegged all day for the first month after Taro's two-word call, unable to do anything but lie on his bed and stare upwards. Occasionally he would change it up and throw a tennis ball towards the ceiling; the repetitive motion providing some stimulation to his numbed brain, but this could only entertain him for so long.

"Light!" the daily call to dinner. Still demotivated, Light creaked his back up slowly, pausing as he sat on the edge of his bed, head in palms, elbows on knees. His hair tickled his ears as it followed gravity, falling by his temples. The late autumn sun gave his skin some much needed warmth as the days became cooler.

Sayu opened Light's door, "Come, it's time for dinner."

"Alright, I'm on my way."

She left the door open as she skipped down the stairs. A few moments later, Light sauntered down, taking his seat at the table. He noted the vacant chair across his.

"Where's Dad?"

"Working on an investigation dear," his mother responded, placing down the casserole dish in the centre of the table.

This peaked Light's interest. Father never stayed at work this late, unless it was a difficult case to crack. After a numbing month, this was the cure he'd been waiting for. His father knew about Light's interest in police work, and being the chief officer, he often allowed for Light to weigh in on cases, sharpening is already brilliant deductive skills.

At almost midnight, Light (still wide awake in a sleeping position in bed) heard the front door click close. Chief Yagami placed his briefcase down, pulled off his jacket and hung it in the coat closet.

The light had been left on for him, with his dinner covered and a note attached: place me in the microwave. Through his fatigue, Soichiro was able to find enjoyment in such simple pleasures of his wife; the note was a nice touch.

Light was leaning against the kitchen door frame as the microwave rotated away. His father hadn't noticed his presence; watching the TV dinner spin as he yawned and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. There was still work to be analysed and Soichiro had to overcome his tiredness. Where was his computer? Soichiro began to crane his neck, scanning to see where he had left it.

"Long day at the office?" Light whispered, "or should I rather say 'night'," he smiled.

Soichiro jumped a little at the mystery voice. His face loosened as he saw his son. "Oh Light, it's you," he said relieved.

"Looking for this?" Light held the police chief's brief case out.

"Ah, thank you," Soichiro responded, taking out his computer. The start-up jingle rang softly.

"Hard case?" Light sat on a stool next to his father who began consuming his food whilst navigating through his digital files.

Soichiro sighed heavily, "Yes, quite an involved case. I haven't seen anything like this, I'm not even sure if it's police work. None of us at the station are too sure; some things police academy can't teach you…"

"Well, maybe I can take a look at it…"

"No Light," he faced the teenager, "This case is potentially very dangerous, I have to be cautious. Sorry Light, not this time," and returned to his screen.

"I understand," Light lied. He feigned a yawn, and excused himself back to bed. Instead, he went to his computer. Through the household network, Light had easy access to all of Chief Yagami's files, unbeknownst to his father.

As he browsed through the newest case folder named "Minori" – the truth - he found it an odd name for police investigations which were named after the victim.

As he continued reading, the folder name began to make sense. The case comprised of a myriad of haiku poems, all signed off by "Minori". All these poems were some sort of suicide note - or notice of death - written by the victims a few moments before their passing (according to the witnesses).

The poem, written by over 25 "victims" – Light wasn't sure what to refer to them as – was the same each time without fail:

My parting message to humanity 

I, the parasite,

leech off your humanity -

rid myself; be free.

~Minori

As Light read more, the details became more weirdly coincidental: all victims lived in the same high-rise apartment building in the city. Bode building, commissioned by a well-known business entrepreneur, spanning multiple industries. A very popular figure in Japan, but little is known about him. We have never seen his face, and only know him by his mysterious name: Mr B. Conspiracy theories are flung in party conversation, often suggesting that the man doesn't exist, rather a made-up figure by some exploitive corporation trying to make an appealing simple character who made it "to the top" through honest ways.

Could Light even call the residents "victims"? The details of death described cardiac arrest as the cause of death. In some sense they were "victims" of nature; heart attacks are a natural occurance and unsuspecting event, the systematic & high frequency of them in this particular residential building could not be ignored.

But how could someone occustrate mass murder through heart attacks? That's impossible!

Light went a pale green.

"If the death is unspecified, the victim will simply die of a heart attack." Taro's voice rang clearly in his racing thoughts; reviving the memory of that inconspicious late-November winter day.

He gasped: the Death Note


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The one thing Taro hated was exactly what solved the problem that got him angry in the first place.

The mail deliverer was their neighbour's son, Kenji; eighteen just like Taro. Although age peers, they had never spoken before, both of them in their nature to keep to themselves. He looked mean - a hardened person who last laughed when he was five. He wore all black – and so did Taro, but Taro kept to charcoal greys ("mourning for humanity" he claimed). Kenji's nose and ears were lined with piercings, Taro often wondered how his nose was still in one piece and bits of cartilage weren't falling off. It didn't seem that a person like him and Taro would mix well. Regardless, Taro needed him for the letters, so maybe it was time for a new friend.

Kenji was a difficult person to find; taking over two weeks – precious time lost. Their meeting was purely coincidental: Taro was on his way to the store a block away, sent by his aunt for a few household items, Kenji happened to be returning from his mail round, smoking. He stood outside the building, leaning with one leg lifted, knee sticking out, revealing the fashionable tear in his black jeans – the style's appeal lost to Taro.

He walked straight to Kenji, "Hey."

As Taro hung around him, shifting weight from one leg to the other, it was only then that Kenji realised the greeting was intended for him. He gave Taro an up-down glance, inspecting what he wore: a long sleeved cotton pull-over, non-descript white pants – so conservative, it looked like his mum dressed him.

"Are you lost?" he puffed smoke in Taro's face, causing him to cough. Kenji found that amusing.

Okay, perhaps that wasn't the smoothest move. How did a person even befriend a person like this? Honestly, this was too much work that sought to distract him from the goal at hand: names.

Stupid! You don't need to befriend him, you have the Death Note. People are no longer a barrier to your plans.

A sinister smile crept on Taro's face.

"What you smiling about?" Kenji snapped. In unsophisticated language, Taro was dismissed.

As he returned from the store, Kenji was still outside smoking. Taro gave him a vindictive smile (masked as friendly) as he entered the building. Taro rushed up to the apartment and into his room, store packet still in hand. He removed the Death Note from where it was safely stored and scribbled Kenji's name down. Bye-bye, he muttered and joined Ryuk in a cackling laughter.

Three days after Kenji's death, a knock came at the door. Placing his cereal down, Taro opened the door to find… air. He looked down and saw a white envelope addressed to him. "Doesn't even have the decency to see me in person…"

He assumed the letter was about the mail job. Strategically, Taro applied for it a week ago, letting the building manager know of his interest for the job. One thing Taro knew about the management was their superficiality. There was no announcement on Kenji's death; their important clients couldn't be bothered about useless news about the help. Death or not, the mail had to be delivered – no excuses were going to be entertained. He assumed the Sasakis, Kenji's family, received a limp letter of apologies on their son's passing – if they even bothered to send one; Taro put nothing passed these heartless capitalist robots.

With the job in hand, Taro could finally begin with his plan to rid the world of its parasitic members, and who better to start with than the people who lived above them. For the last time, Taro looked up to the ceiling and cursed their existence.

Closing the door, Taro began to read the letter as he slowly walked to a stool. The letter outlined the intricate delivery schedule. It was perfectly mapped out to ensure that the delivery did not interfere with the upper-storey residents' schedules. "Probably to not have the high esteemed residents' eyes have the image of the help in their sightline," Taro thought bitterly and rolled his eyes.

His plan could only be achieved two days later when the mail to the floor above was to be delivered. 48 hours: a long time period to occupy. It was the autumn holidays and Taro had run out of things to do. He had re-read every book he owned, even stooping as low as to read teenage vampire novels at the bookstore around the corner. There were 40 hours left until mail delivery when he returned bookless from the store; at least that useless endeavour wasted time. Officially running out of anything to read, Taro's desperation drove him to venture into his aunt's collection.

Creaking her door ajar, Taro peaked in and the floral fragrance of her perfume tickled his nose. Empty – his aunt often left with no explanation. He opened completely and invited himself in.

It felt strange being in this room; like he was an invader of privacy. Well, she always came to his room uninvited, so it was time to return the favour. Taro had never been in there, and took a good look at its contents, spinning 360 to take it all in. A double bed was against the opposite wall, below the window that brought in the golden rays of an autumn afternoon into the space. The vanity table next to the door glimmered as the light from the window hit it, causing disco ball lighting illuminating the room.

In the far corner, Taro spotted a stack of hard cover books; his aunt was a frequent purchaser of books, but an infrequent reader. Picking up the first 6, Taro leaned them against his chest as he craned his neck to see his pathway out. The dust rubbed off and a sneeze ruptured.

Taro had just managed to place the books down on the counter as he covered his snout. Sitting in his usual stool, Taro flipped open the top book. A few pages in, he snapped it closed and pushed it aside.

He continued with the next four, each landing on the "read" stack. They were all the same: soppy, poorly written and completely predictable. He wondered why women bought into the "knight in shining armour" story - quite an archaic perspective. They fought with vigour to show they were equal and as strong as men, and yet in their fantasies, they were damsels in distress. Was the last book even worth his time an attempted read?

It wasn't, and it suffered a different fate. Taro tossed it over his shoulder and heard a thud. He swivelled.

"Hey!" Ryuk let out a yelp.

"What?" Taro saw where the book had landed. "Oh, sorry," he said despondently, turning back to face the counter. Taro sighed; still bored like he began. About to close his eyes for a little rest, they were distracted by a fluttering paper in his peripheral vision. Frowning slightly, Taro unfolded his legs and walked over to the item. It was a small white piece of paper – no bigger than palm size. Picking it up to see the reverse, Taro flipped it over and instantaneously wished he hadn't: a small picture; a young male adult its prisoner. The edges were frayed; the picture's colour faded by the sun; its glossy finish worn away.

His heart panged as his memories of the person flooded back. No! He commanded them to subside; he worked too far to forget him for this picture to foil those efforts. He slipped the picture into his pants' pocket; neatly stacked the books again in the order he had found them and quietly made his way back to his aunt's room – his mind still fixated on the picture.

On the morning of delivery day, Taro went about his usual routine, sans the cereal – his excitement had made him slightly behind schedule. He grabbed an apple, and took a generous bite; juices dripping down his chin, Taro's tongue lapped it up.

Ryuk whipped to see what created that distinct crack; his mouth began to water. An apple – he could sense it. Ryuk saw Taro enjoy his apple and his eyes flickered to the fruit bowl where six blood red apples patiently waited to be devoured.

"Want one?" Taro tossed an apple up into the air and caught it. Ryuk simply nodded, eyes fixated on the apple's vertical shift. Taro tossed it over, and in three large bites, it was gone – core and stem included.

"Wow, you really like apples," Taro commented with a light chuckle. He waited for the shinigami to float passed the door frame, closing and locking behind him.

"Human realm apples are so juicy. It's almost worth the trouble of coming over here."

The mail delivery went smoothly; Taro paid special attention on the mail of those living above him. He re-read the name until it stuck. Confident he knew their name, Taro placed their mail down with a broad smile on his face and went back to the staff closet to return the mail sack.

Choosing night time as their end, Taro waited 'til after his dinner to write down their father's name.

Perched on his bed, he looked up at the ceiling as he did every evening, thinking about them, and with a cold heart knowing that he never occupied their thoughts. He closed the notebook and hugged it against his chest as he lay on bed. He counted down as his watch ticked: 5, 4, 3, 2…1.

A thud – the father must have fallen off his chair. The frantic scratching and yells of help from the family above him was music he longed to here for some time – sounding like little rats scurrying from their impending demise. Faintly, he heard an ambulance cry; useless, the man is dead, his family destroyed, just as their selfishness had to society. That's what you get for greed and self-centredness.

His work completed, the Death Note was returned to its hiding place. With a victorious smile on his face, Taro fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notice to the fictitious readers of this story:**** If this story had a soundtrack, it'd be "In the hall of the Mountain King" from the Social Network OST. Listen to it on youtube [ watch?v=cD8EPdn5Ctg]; just keep that in mind whilst the story pans out.**

**If you're more traditional classical lover, you may prefer the original by Grieg [ watch?v=ZAiEPUu0iO4], that'd work just as well. I like the Reznor and Ross version; the sinister nuances kinda remind me of Taro…**

**I must warn: this chapter is very graphic. Read with caution.**

With school resuming on the first of December, Light would finally meet his friend and have his questions answered. Do shinigami exist? If so, how do they look like? Who was that first victim? Poems? Haikus: why that type?

But of all: why? Why those people? What did they do?

Taro walked into school with his usual slumped demeanour. His eyes, rather than fixated on the black text of a book, were analysing that picture he found in his aunt's book. He kept it on his person ever since; a constant reminder of his purpose. He flipped it around and around with his index and middle finger, hypnotised by the rhythmical repetition of this movement.

Out the corner of his eye, Taro walked past the spot where it all began. The patch of grass looked limp; a pale lime green, mimicking the sick feeling seeing this photo gave Taro. The winter chill chewed the life out of the grass.

Taro completely forgot about Ryuk – he became almost like a detachable tail that trailed with him everywhere he went. Supposed it's because Taro didn't go out often enough to even feel the shinigami's presence. But he was instantly reminded as he met up with Light.

Light just stood. His books he carried had long fallen on the path of gravity and the pages were beginning to moisten from the thawing light snow. He seemed stunned, frozen in place and just stared out beyond Taro's right shoulder.

A monstrous creature was suspended a metre above the air; its legs bended at the knee to stop it from touching the ground. Its long expanse of angel-like wings kept the creature afloat, but it was nothing like an angel. Its face, pure horror like Satan had carved it himself. There was no way this thing could be of earthly origins.

A shinigami - it must all be true! The questions that plagued Light moments ago fluttered out his mind. For a second, he even forgot the human gift of speech. He just gawked.

Taro's brows burrowed into a deep frown. _What was he staring at?_ He followed Light's eye path over his shoulder and only saw Ryuk. Nobody, not even Taro's aunt could see Ryuk, so it was impossible that Light could see him.

Or was it?

Ryuk broke out into his usual cackle; oh what entertainment it was to see the humans learn about the Death Note. Light's eyes widened to the point that his balls may fall out of his socket; this verified to Taro that Light could see the shinigami.

Taro sighed, unprepared for this occurrence. He slipped the photo into his pocket after a quick glance through gritted teeth, and thought of where they could go to explain what was going on. They needed somewhere private, somewhere warm – inside the school; and soon before anyone noticed how drawn out this weird reaction had been. Although consumed with chatter of their holidays, Taro did not want to risk their peer's eavesdropping.

Swopping their usual roles temporarily, Taro picked up Light's books and placed them in his hands; he held them as if it was a natural response. He guided him down the corridor and Light's body obliged.

As they walked down the corridor and the coldness thawed out of them and Light seemed to be less and less shocked by the shinigami's presence. By the time they reached their destination (a science lab), Light had adjusted. He gained back his consciousness and the questions returned. About to voice one, Taro spoke first.

"Why can he see you?" His question was directed at the shinigami. Taro leaned against the window frame, legs and arms crossed, facing towards the room and to Ryuk. The shinigami laughed as it usually did; Taro unfazed by his constant cackles.

"Don't you remember? He touched the Death Note. All humans who touch the note are able to see the original owner of the note book"

_And he never thought about mentioning this before?! _A person touching the notebook was of no major concern to Taro; the note was permanently in its hiding place. The only unsecured area (if any) was his decision to bring a fragment of the paper with him to school.

Light wasn't sure if he was allowed to speak. What he hoped was a smooth inconspicuous move, Light slid into the first stool in the first bench by the door, the furthest point from Taro. The air was bitterly cold. Taro distanced himself from the group and stared out the large windows that looked out over the courtyard, but his head was tilted down into his chest, looking down at whatever his hands housed.

_Is it okay to ask now?_ Light breathed deeply and just went for it: "Why haikus?"

Taro was dragged out from his deep pondering and whipped his head up. He peered to Light's wide-eyed reflection. Of all the news reports and television news broadcasts of the series of unexplained heart attacks, none mentioned the haikus. _How would he have known?_ Taro's eyes narrowed, peering at the light reflection.

"Thought I'd stick to my Japanese routes" he responded sarcastically. Taro didn't want to face questioning – he didn't want to remember. With the presence of the man stuck in the little photo, the pain panged more.

He turned on the ball of his foot, preparing himself mentally for the realm of questions that were to follow. But questions there were none: Light sat awkwardly hunched over in the science classroom chair, fidgeting and quite reserved for his usual confident demeanour.

"You want to know why: why that building; why those people?" Taro asked nonchalantly, ending his question with a small yawn. _Guess there's no bullshitting him…_ Light gave a small nod.

Taro tread carefully around his words, sounding each out with perfect pronunciation as if he did not want to get anything wrong. "Bode Living Apartments houses evil people, owned by an evil man. And they deserve to die."

Light didn't know how to react to that sweeping statement; he was taken aback. "Mr. B? How could he be evil? He's a well-known philanthropist." Just the week before there had been an announcement for his launch of his 20th charity organisation; Light mentioned this.

Taro's face contorted into pure disgust. His voice rose: "Merely a front to fool ignorant people like you."

_These ominous statements…_ Light became defensive. Of all the rotten souls that roamed this earth, blinded by their selfish greed, Mr B was a good rich man – a man whose attribution to "richness" extends pass the confines of currency; Light would not allow for his image to be unjustifiably attacked like this. "Well, how would you know?"

"Because I'm his son." Taro turned to the window again, looking at the little man in the picture. He enjoyed this ringing pain that the picture caused. Accompanied by his last statement, the swirling of the different pains was almost intoxicating.

Light couldn't believe that. As the moments passed, his brain made connections between mysterious B and Taro. Light had never seen nor heard Mr B, so he couldn't rely on physicality to understand how they could be related. The only attribute he knew was secrecy and this mimicked Taro's exactly. The moments passed, the silence lingered and Light waited expectantly.

"He really is evil," Taro whispered. His voice was different; defeated, juvenile, like the little cry of a six year old – stark contrast to his low controlled voice.

Taro looked up from his picture, slipped it into his pocket yet again and decided to face Light. Standing with his bottom rested on the low hanging window sill, Taro crossed his feet and looked strained, avoiding Light's gaze, staring right across the room to the door. _Grey_ he observed.

Light noticed the glossiness of Taro's eyes but thought best not to point this out.

"If you really want to know, I'll tell you." Taro took a deep breath in through his nose and breathed out through his mouth.

"I was five – four? Or maybe even six – I don't know," Taro was rambling, "but a man came to our home one summer's day. I have been raised by my aunt since birth, always wondered about my real parents but never asked. My aunt only ever mentioned that my mother had passed away at birth," Taro paused, gulped, "She always said this with a slight hesitation, but as the years continued, the hesitation became less obvious. That should have prepared me…

"I'd always known about my dad - or rather the _idea_ I created of him. My juvenile mind assumed that he left me with my aunt because he was off being a hero to the rest of the world. That's what a good man would do, so that's what my father would do. That lie comforted my little soul. But that day when I was six, I got to meet the man I always held in high regard.

"I sat on a stool in our quaint house somewhere – we stayed there for such a short time I can't remember its name - eating a cereal and watching the leaves rustle outside. Peace –" Taro faced Light, "I remember feeling peace." He stared out forward again. "It was early autumn and our village tranquil in its peaceful silence. My aunt was still asleep, as she usually was in the morning. A rumbling of cars lifted dust – on my toes I could see over the canopy and see the brown leading towards our house.

"A forceful knock crashed on the door. A bit frighten, I placed my cereal bowl down with silent precision and scampered to my aunt's room. After shaking my aunt awake and telling her of the people at the door, she tied her gown and shuffled to the door. Yawning, she opened the door and instantly livened up."

Light shifted his seating position; Taro moved nothing but his mouth. "She said a name – I can't remember. But she said it with pure shock; as if a ghost just appeared. The man at the door wore a black suit; completely clean and undirtied by the environment. He was very misplaced.

"He was a jolly man with a broad smile from ear to ear. My body naturally responded back with an equally warmed smile and so did my aunt. As she realised that her lips curled into a smile, she quickly whipped back to a serious expression. With harshness, she grilled the man as to why he came all this way after 'all this time'. It was simple: he was there to take his little boy on holiday.

"And I instantly saw the resemblance: his eyes were larger versions of the ones I see in the mirror, his curled hair tamed with gel but visibly wild like mine in its natural state. I said yes. This choice wasn't for my aunt to make – I was going to see my dad.

"My aunt began to protest, but understood my want to see my father. The adults dismissed me to my room to have a conversation. It escalated to a heated discussion quickly, ending in my aunt storming off to her room. I peeked out the door to see if I was allowed to know what had happened. The black-haired man – _my_ father – smiled again at me. Without much thought, I left with him."

Light wondered how Taro's voice hadn't become hoarse already, but his focus returned to the story mid-sentence, "—nd he said very simply that we were going to Cambodia to see my mother. In one day I went from parentless to having both mother and father. I was the luckiest kid. Or so I thought…

_Stop with these foreboding statements…_ Light was slowly becoming irritated. But he remembered what this was all for: why were people in that building being killed? This answer was worth this long anecdote.

"We landed; the humidity made my clothes almost stick instantly. I scurried alongside my new found father in the airport; his long strides with his long legs made it difficult to keep up. The day was filled with useless chatter, laughter, but in the back of my mind, I was still thinking about my mother. He promised that I'd meet her; I was not going to let that promise slip.

"As we ate ice-cream in the late afternoon, I forced an answer out of him. With a secretive smile, he said 'tonight – you'll see your mother tonight'.

"The night came quickly, driven by my excitement. We booked into a seedy hotel in what I think was downtown, but at six years old, I couldn't tell. The dodgy environment made my skin tingle, but I ignored it: I was going to see my mother and father together so the setting didn't matter.

"We walked into a dimly lit hotel – it smelt damp which was unassisted by the boarded up windows. I hung close against my father's leg as we entered the lobby. Little speaking happened in this area; the mood was tense. I saw some loosely dressed ladies in the corner, their heads were lolling; their eyes hazed and blank as we locked eyes – this made me anxious, but I kept my feelings to myself. A large man, sweating from the sweltering heat of the evening came to us. He gestured his head towards me with an inquisitive look to my father. He shook his head 'no' to the large man and requested 'the usual'. With the vague statement, the large man understood. My father smiled down at me as we walked down a dark corridor to a room. Before my father opened the door, he told me I was going to see my mother now. Reluctantly, I smiled.

_Shouldn't the bell be ringing now? _Light thought. 7:15 the clock read; they had 5 minutes left.

"We entered a red room; cheap red velvet covered couch at one end; a king-sized bed on the other. I was told to sit on the couch and in await my mother's arrival. My father disappeared into an adjacent room.

"A few moments later, a woman with a blank, detached expression entered. Not noticing my quiet presence, she sighed heavily to herself and robotically performed her usual motions – as thought it was something that happened frequently that no longer required thought. She was scantily dressed in underwear that barely fitted, so I looked away speedily, confused and embarrassed at seeing her so exposed.

"Her face brightened up as she noticed me. We stared at each other without saying anything. Her tired eyes lit up as her exhausted face shifted into a long forgotten smile. 'Taro' she whispered and purely by the tone of her voice, I knew she was my mother. I began to smile back, but my father re-emerged. He shouted for silence and we both obliged.

"The fear that flickered in my mother's eye told me not to move or act otherwise. My father paced slowly around the bed, inspect my mother with a lustful eye. He climbed on the bed, dominating over my mother. He smiled sinisterly towards me with victory shining in his eyes as he… as he—" Taro spluttered into a violent but silent cry, hauling out deep repressed pain.

Taro painfully and clearly remembered the continuation of the story, but he couldn't say it out loud. He slid down and sat leaning against the wall, his knees against his chest. He arms wrapped around his knees, squeezing them closer to his chest as though this helped suppress the memory.

There was no need for Taro to continue. With his tearfulness and traumatised disposition, Light knew what he was alluding to. Light was reluctant; unsure of how to respond or deal with this situation. He looked around as if the answer lived somewhere in the room.

After moments of silence, through teary eyes, Taro quietly continued: "With every violent thrust of his pelvis, my mother cried out in pain but was instructed to be silent instantaneously. She looked out with pleading eyes through her tears, crying harder yet silently as she saw the horror across my face. My father looked back at me and smiled with pride as he performed his actions; his trophy every tear that soaked the cheap red bedding.

"As he huffed heavily as he finished; I was dismissed gruffly. My knees shook; I was barely able to walk out in a straight line. As I left the room, more dazed and blank women entered his room – probably to suffer the same fate. The large man from earlier appeared and ushered me to a car that took me some place. I closed my eyes, hoping the image would disappear, but her strickened face was forever imprinted in my conscience.

"I dunno what happened to me, where I slept or what happened after that. Somehow I found myself back on a plane heading towards Japan with that same large man escorting me. We spoke no words; he gruffly pushed me into my aunt's arms at the airport and left without so much as a glance backwards."

Taro started laughing – a laugh laced with cynical hatred. "As though it is some consolation, my one-day father gave us free-of-charge a home – no, a matchbox – to live in the city: a Bode living apartment, his new investment. He thought he could pay away what I saw – throw money at me as though it exonerates him. But it doesn't. I remember and no amount of money can ever make that memory disappear."

Taro stood up and straightened himself. His jaw locked; his teeth gritted with such force. He snapped his head and looked at Light with intensity. Speedily, he spat out:

"A man like that does not deserve to live. He must die and burn in the depths of hell's inferno. And the people who support him should also die." Taro's black eyes brimmed with tears that he fought with difficulty to keep back. There was only a glint of white shown in the caves of his eyes; the sign of his angered passion.

"And with the Death Note," he continued, "I can be the one to kill him."

Light stood dumbfounded. For the first time he felt that he could truly see Taro's nature. His brain couldn't comprehend all that it was being confronted with. Light looked at Taro in his raw state: a broken human. His secretive nature, his constant need to fill himself with information was only a means to block out what haunted him – it all made sense now. He felt sorry for him, but this didn't distract from the horrors he was committing with the Death Note.

"Taro," Light called out. There was no response; he was still engulfed in his nightmarish memories. Light carefully said: "But these people that you have killed… they don't deserve to die."

A hidden rage burst out and boiled over. Taro's eyes squinted into little slithers leering into Light's slightly fearful eyes. The overhead light made Taro's eyes be cast into shadow.

"What?" he hissed.

There was no doubt: Taro was deranged and in needed help – immediately.

Light became a little frightened, but maintained his composure. Calmly, softly but confidently and with caution, he responded, "Taro, what you're doing is wrong. These people don't deserve to die. What your dad did was wrong as well but—" Light was cut short.

"YOU DARE DEFY MY CAUSE?" Taro spat on Light's face; standing right against his face. He breathed deeply, consumed by pure anger.

Not waiting for a response, Taro in three lightning fast moves whipped out his Death Note fragment. With speed, he scribbled Light Yagami's name down with the pen he carried in his shirt pocket. He quickly considered the fact that they were in school.

Huffing from his anger spout, he slipped the pen back to its place in his pocket as he regained his breath. Still looking at the fragment, calmly Taro said:

"Light Yagami. At 20:30 today, you meet your end." He slipped the Death Note fragment into the pocket where his photo of Mr B was housed. Lifting his satchel and placing it on his left shoulder, Taro continued:

"No one will stand in my way - especially not you. I thought you were my friend. Guess it's true: no one can be trusted…"

The bell rang after Taro's last sound. He turned on the ball of his foot and left, continuing as if nothing happened.

**A/N:**** I wish Taro's long anecdote was the simple musing of my twisted mind, but it is not. Slavery has not died - it simply changed its mask. Human trafficking happens every day. Men (and women) like Mr B find pleasure in the exploitation of the innocent and defenceless. It is happening to thousands of people right now as you read.**

**I wish I could counter the guilt-trip of above and create a sense of cheerful hope in telling your imploring souls what you can do now by adding some link to some website, but I am defeated. My heart aches for humanity, yet it has no outlet. Perhaps that's what I've been reduced to: wishing and hoping for the unattainable best.**

**I feel like a disgusting human being; too consumed with selfishness. I'm going take my pessimistic, cynical self and reflect.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chap 7

Taro had thought that he would feel some remorse for killing Light with such ease, yet as he walked up the school entrance stairs knowing that he would not be meeting his lone friend for a morning chat - he was unaffected. His mind-set was of a man on a specific mission. It was war, with an enemy declared. There was no time for petty human emotion such as mourning.

As a minor self-criticism, Taro considered the poor timing of Light's death and its possible implications around Light's death. A fit, popular young adult dying unexpectedly of cardiac arrest would surely draw attention and rise suspicion – and concern to the loner attachee that the passed left behind. The whole school would have an eye on Taro, whispering as he would walk passed them on the corridors; a new source for the latest gossip catch. The teachers would sympathise and patronise him, assume that he is incapable of being a functioning student with his assumed heartache. All eyes would be on him, limiting what actions he could take. _Oh well,_ Taro shrugged off as his clothes thawed from the outside chill, _a little acting is a small sacrifice - I did what I had to do._

His inner musings had since shifted from the possible aftermath of Light's untimely death, and now tackled what his approach to killing the beloved Mr B. It wouldn't be as easy as Light – his credentials were not as well known or accessible. _A name - that's all I need: a name._

The puzzle continued to challenge him as he turned into the English class, his whole being focused on finding a solution. A light bulb rang in his head and Taro was about to (stupidly) ask a question Ryuk out loud for the whole world to hear and confirm his alleged insanity, but this light bulb fell on its side and shattered instantaneously as the image was translated by Taro's brain. Light. Alive. Breathing. Blinking. _You were supposed to die at eight last night. _There he sat in his seat in the front, as if nothing had happened to him the previous evening – not even a scratch mark. Light was alive and nowhere near dying. _The human's whose name is written in this note shall die _– the first rule of the note. Does the Death Note not work anymore? But all the Bode building residents had died – including last night's evil victims who were supposed to be Light's companions to heaven.

Although fuming inside, Taro kept his composure. A flicker of irritation had glimmered in his eyes, but was concealed by his low hanging hood. Ryuk noticed, as he always did, laughed gleefully to himself.

By the end of English class, Taro had concluded that Light must have a guardian angel protecting his wretched life. At this point, he put nothing passed existence. The supernatural world that his logical brain dismissed for years was proven by the Death Note, and it is to the supernatural world that he is grateful. It was means to quench his thirst for revenge.

The air between the (assumed) former friends was electric, charged with hatred and confusion, though the teenagers never looked at each other. Light swiftly left class before Taro could even get a word in edgewise (if he even had any), and disappeared into the crowds that filled the corridors, exchanging to their next lesson. Taro was fixated in his seat, staring out into the empty class, plagued by his thoughts as his brain attempted to make sense of Light's life.

"Hello?" Ryuk danced around in front of Taro to alarm him to reality. After numerous attempts, he gave up and coiled into an adjacent chair, watching the human. it was only by a hit square in the jaw of a hanging shoulder satchel of another student entering for their English lesson that jolted Taro to reality. He crumpled his papers as he carelessly threw them into his bag and slipped out the class before the stream of English students arrived.

The former friends maintained distance throughout the day, Light swopping seats with other students to be as far away from his attempted murderer. A main aspect to their relationship was the journey from class to class, weaving their way through the waves of students. Taro was left unaided that day, but luckily he did not need a guide; there was no book being read, as he shifted focus onto more pressing issues: how to kill Mr B. The mystery of Light's miraculous survival would be solved later.

His thought train's last stop was on obtaining a name – that was the key element. By the end of the school day, as Taro ventured out of the warm school into the height of early December winter, he embarked on the bus ride he used every day to get home. He reflected upon his first Death Note killing – almost a year ago, if not to the day. Taro smiled as he remembered why he was prompted to even attempt such as ludicrous practical jokes: the new rules. He now knew that it must have been Ryuk who entered them in, as a means to get the teens interested in a non-descript black note book and it certainly worked.

The Death Note rules… Taro knew that there were a total of nine rules, but he found it difficult to recall them all. One makes mention to some means to see people's life spans and names – shinigami eyes or something to that effect - and this seemed to be the key to achieving his vendetta.

Walking out the bus and towards the Bode building, Taro spoke forward without facing Ryuk, making minimal mouth movements, but nonetheless, his message was clear: "I want shinigami eyes".

Ryuk was first taken aback by the request and halted in the busy streets. He then began to laugh a hearty laugh, different from his usual plotting cackle; Taro thought that the sheer volume of his laughter would cross between realms and the humans around would be able to hear him. Taro did not stop walking and made his way up to the apartment.

Ryuk's laughter echoed in the corridor as he followed far down. It was the same laughter, Taro noted as he rummaged for his keys, that Ryuk had when Light's name was written as the note's next victim,

Often Ryuk paid little attention when Taro tabulated the victims of the week, or pleaded like a board toddler for another apple, generally paying no attention to what happens with the Death Note. But with Light's name, he took a particular interest, glancing over Taro's shoulder as he reviewed the Death Note's victims for the evening. The expected, typical-Ryuk cackle was more of a hearty laughter of genuine amusement.

As they settled into the apartment and Ryuk helped himself to an apple, Taro sat in his stool waiting for the apple to finish. Taro knew he was free to speak as his aunt was out. He went straight to business.

"I want the shinigami eyes, give them to me."

"Well, I can't do that for you," Ryuk responded with a smile hidden in his tone.

Taro became indignant; did the Shinigami not know about the very rules he wrote down?! He retrieved the Death Note and read rule number three of "how to use guide II" to jog Ryuk's memory.

"To see the lifespan and names of humans who do not own a Death Note, the human owner of the note may trade for shinigami eyes," he closed the note and placed it behind him on the counter, "So, may I have the shinigami eyes?"

"No."

"Why not?" Taro did not attempt to mask his irritation.

"Because only human owners of the note can trade for shinigami eyes."

"But I am the owner."

"Are you?"

Taro was baffled by the shinigami's ignorance. Of course he was the owner; he was the only one using the note and was the only one in possession of the note – the only one who had touched it! Except… except for that first day of the note's discovery. Taro remembers clearly that Light picked up and discarded the note as a prank _first_ before Taro had inspected it.

"How does the note determine its human owner?"

"As the note touches the Earth, it becomes a part of the human realm. The first human to touch the note book is its owner."

"Dammit!" Taro cursed under his breath. His brow burrowed into pensive thought as he gently rocked sideways in his stool.

Taro had read rule number four in "how to use guide II", but he did not think this applied to him: borrowers of the Death Note may not trade for shinigami eyes. Technically speaking, Taro was a borrower of the note. This revelation meant his plans on murdering the incarnate of evil rested upon Light Yagami, a former friend who would refuse to help Taro in light of his attempted murder. Taro's ultimate goal rested upon law-abiding Light agreeing to murder – a crime that fundamentally disagrees with his being.

_Unless… _Taro's mind began to vibrate with ideas as his brain made connections. It sought solution, and then it came:

_Light Yagami, I'm glad you're not dead. _Ryuk's sinister cackle rang in Taro's soul.


End file.
